The Strongest Man I Know

I have met a lot of strong men.

Chuck Hayatain was strong. He had a steely determination and focus that could almost “will” an outcome. He was strong enough to almost single-handedly lead an entire state forward from an unlikely helm - the Speakership.

But he was not as strong as Rob Cressen.

Jack Collins was strong. He had both Jack Armstrong All-American forearms and a principled political stubbornness - borne of conviction - that enabled him to stand up unflinchingly to Governors, Senate Presidents, Supreme Courts and the State House Press Corps.

But he was not as strong as Rob Cressen.

Jim Brown was strong - legendary strong, mythically strong, poetically strong - like Hercules or Superman or Atlas.

But even Jim was not as strong as Rob Cressen.

It is not the thousands of miles on foot, in the water and on bicycle that Rob has logged in more than 200 triathlons, scores of road races and countless other physical challenges that led me to that conclusion.

It is not even the dogged and determined pursuit of victory as Executive Director of the Ocean County Republican Party that elected a Governor and launched a presidential candiacy that brought me to that verdict.

Nope.

It was the look in the eyes of a strong and proud man in a wheel chair. It was the resolve and purposefulness in the speech of a ‘communicator’ determined to be heard. It was the strength to bawl unabashedly at the funeral of a friend while others sniffled.

A freak accident has temporarily slowed Rob down. Not sure what the Almighty was trying to tell him, but whatever it was, it will not stop him. Uh-uh. Wrong guy.

I was shocked - physically moved - by seeing this strongest of men incapacitated. It set me back, but only for a moment. Once I saw his eyes; heard him speak; noticed the incredible grip on the arms of the wheel chair; I knew this too shall pass. I knew that Rob would be walking under his own strength sooner than any expert in the medical community dares to predict.

Seeing Rob told me something about myself as well.

For most of my adult lifetime I have daydreamed and fantasized about hiking the Appalachian Trail - it is an obsession. I chuckled the other day when I thought of it again and said to myself, “Rob would have hiked the AT three or four times over just during the collective moments I have spent thinking about it.”

Rob Cressen is the strongest man I know.

He is as strong as Patrick Torpey is kind, but that is a story for another day.

Postnote:

After I wrote the column, I wanted to run it by Rob. Make sure he was ok with the literally tens of people who might stumble upon it. He wrote back the following:

While I don't think I'm deserving of such accolades, I am moved that you do.

I had never heard of RSD (Reflex Sympathetic Dystrophy) or that it could advance to my current condition until last May. Now it is an acronym I'll never forget.

I miss my life. I've spent two summers now watching it go by as I look out my shaded windows, as the disease no longer allows my to feel the warmth of the sunshine when it's at it's brightest. When exposed, I get horrible bruises, and because of one of my liver diseases, I'm forced to wear sunglasses even while inside as I'm unable to tolerate the sun's radiance.

You know I miss pushing myself on my bicycle, mile swims in the ocean and watching the sun rise as I'd run along the ocean or playing my guitar, since I now lack the strength to hold the strings on the fret board...but it is the simple things, the ones that people always take for granted, that I miss most.

Things like walking to catch the 6:50 train (or frankly, walking at all) and pushing myself to be best at my new position at the Port Authority. Or driving a car to visit my family or to see my 12 year old nephew excel on the Pop-Warner field. These things, the "real" things are what I miss most...

I tell you this because while my perspective and appreciation of things has changed; my determination to fight, and win this fight, has not...

Each day I tell myself that no matter how much pain I'm in, how much my treatments are exhausting and hurt to a new level each time or what new adversity I am challenged with overcoming...

That I'm one step closer to better.

I am overwhelmed by what you wrote; I'm undeserving. I'm just a guy trying to get through each day, with the hope that perhaps tomorrow will be a little better. 

But, of course, you have my permission to post it, and my undying gratitude for your words.

Thank you Don.